


Stupefy

by Krisis



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blindfolds, Bondage, Dubious Consent, Gags, Humiliation, Kidnapping, M/M, PWP
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-03
Updated: 2017-04-03
Packaged: 2018-10-14 05:50:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,635
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10530213
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Krisis/pseuds/Krisis
Summary: Harry gets hit with a Stupefy spell and wakes up in a compromising position.This is tagged dub- and non-con because (while I certainly like to think Harry is enjoying himself) the sex and kink elements are decidedly NOT negotiated in this scene. I encourage anyone who is uncomfortable with that but still interested in reading to imagine that Harry and Draco (with the willing assistance of Blaise and Pansy) came up with and discussed this roleplay ahead of time. And if anyone feels like writing THAT scene, please send it my way!





	

“Stupefy”

When Harry awoke he found himself on his knees, his arms stretched out above him and firmly attached above his head. His ankles were similarly restrained, at a width that felt about equal to the distance between his hands, a distance which forced his knees well apart on the soft mattress underneath him. At least, he assumed it was a mattress. The positioning of his restraints felt consistent with the posts of the four-poster beds in the eighth-year dorms, and the way his feet hung off the end of the structure made him think he must be tied to the foot of the bed, his back to the door. His inability to confirm this placement was thanks to the blindfold placed firmly around his glasses, padded around the edges and remarkably effective at blocking even his most peripheral vision. A complementary bit gag between his teeth similarly prevented any cries for help.

Harry had just enough time to take all of this in, but not quite enough to reach a full-blown panic, when he heard the door behind him open, and the whispered (male?) voices and laughter of at least two people. He tensed and strained to listen, but was only able to make out a soft “enjoy!” followed by receding footsteps as the door swung closed again. The room was silent for a long moment, but Harry did not relax, certain that he had only heard one set of leaving footsteps; at least one person still remained. Left to stew in the knowledge that he was not alone and the fear of what whichever Slytherin had him trapped here was planning for him (because it had to be a Slytherin, and one of the eighth-years. Who else would dare to sneak up behind him in the dorm hallway and knock him out?), Harry began to sweat slightly, shivering as the cold air met his damp skin.

The soft footsteps came after a moment--or an eternity--of cold terror, and Harry found his mind racing with the keen awareness of how helpless and exposed he was, how powerless to prevent the other boy from touching him wherever he chose, from his cock to his throat to the backs of his knees. He was not prepared, however, for the slick finger that slid past his arse cheeks and touched directly to his entrance. Shame flooded him, and his whole body felt afire from the invasion of this most sensitive and private area, but the finger persisted, relentless. They circled the ring of muscle around his entrance slowly, torturously, once, twice, three times, before pressing in with agonizing slowness. Harry bucked forward, desperate to get away from the penetrating digit, flushing deeply throughout his whole body, but a firm hand grasped his left hip, digging deeply into the soft flesh just inside of his pelvic bone, holding him steady, preventing any escape.

For a while Harry’s only thought was of the shame of it, the helplessness, the fact that he still didn’t know who was doing this to him. But as the stranger added another finger, a soft, traitorous whimper escaped him. The complete darkness of the blindfold obscuring his vision seemed to heighten his senses, narrowing his awareness until he was just prickling cold skin, gritted teeth around the rubber bar in his mouth, and always, obtrusively, the steady filled-up feeling of his arsehole. As a third finger stretched him almost more than he thought possible, he found himself getting hard, panting and pressing back against the fingers as much as the hand on his hip allowed.

Almost as soon as he had made this small movement, the fingers withdrew. Harry felt a moment of strange emptiness, but soon something pressed against his entrance again, still slick, but colder and harder this time. This object pressed into him, stretched him in a steady, constant increase quite unlike the fingers. Each moment Harry thought it must stop, that he could not possibly stretch any further, he found himself proven wrong, until the sensation was so much, so impossibly wide and open and still coming still moving unstoppable that he thought he must surely break apart and then--the pressure eased. All at once he felt empty again, but...that wasn’t quite right. The stranger behind him brushed his arse cheeks with his fingertips and then...seemed to tug at something. And then push. Harry felt his muscles clench around an object, a plug, lodged firmly in his arsehole.

The hands of his tormentor trailed gently up his back and then his neck and then the sides of his head, gently removing both the blindfold and Harry’s glasses in one movement. Harry tried to crane his head around, but with a soft snort the other man (yes, a man, Harry was pretty sure, though he didn’t usually like to assume these things about people) sidestepped his view, setting the blindfold and glasses down out of sight. Then a loud SMACK of a palm against Harry’s left arsecheek had him abandoning the notion of seeing what even his notoriously poor vision could reveal. Harry hung his head and dropped his gaze to the mattress under his knees, too shocked at the sudden stinging pain to move. A pale hand snaked around his hip and gently but firmly cupped his balls underneath his still-hard cock. Then the smack came again, bare hand against his bare arse, this time jostling the plug that still filled him and sending confusing, tingling waves of pleasure and pain through his body. The hand on his balls, palm flat against them and fingers stretching towards his perineum, forced his arse up and backwards, causing a slight arch to his lower back and neatly guaranteeing that he could not squirm away from the slaps that now came in rhythmical earnest.

At first the pain was secondary to the humiliation. Harry was no stranger to pain, after all, but having all his most intimate places touched without his permission, being stretched into a position deliberately intended to show off the curve of his arse as it steadily became redder and redder with repeated slaps, that was new. The sensation seemed to build upon itself, though, and soon he was squirming helplessly, certain that the raw feeling of his arse cheeks was as visible as the matching blush on his face. His tormentor paused to scratch his nails down each cheek, introducing Harry to an entirely different type of pain and causing him to briefly consider whether or not pain could be categorized, before stepping away, leaving Harry feeling oddly bereft.

The mattress before Harry dipped down as the man crawled onto the bed in front of him. Though Harry was pretty thoroughly blind without his glasses, there was no mistaking the platinum blonde hair. In shock, he tried to yell “Malfoy!” forgetting about the gag in his mouth, which garbled the word beyond recognition. Malfoy seemed to know or guess what he had said, though, because he chuckled and said sarcastically “scared, Potter?”  
Harry felt the other man’s hand on his chest, gentle touch at odds with the challenge behind the familiar words. The fingers trailed over to pinch his left nipple, and then Harry felt cold metal there, closing down tight on his sensitive nipple. Malfoy gave the clamp a soft tug, nodded in satisfaction, and proceeded to do the same on the other side. He knelt up briefly, to admire his handiwork, then reached out and flicked the dangling ends of both clamps, causing them to make a cheerful ringing sound. Bells, Harry thought, with a rush of baffled embarrassment.

Then Malfoy was back behind him, and Harry braced himself for another spanking. The first blow felt different this time, though. It was not Malfoy’s hand but something harder, wider but thinner, that made a swishing noise as it swung through the air. The paddle felt less intimate than Malfoy’s hand had, but this was only a small relief. The blows produced a greater sting, and Malfoy seemed to delight in the variation in sensation he could achieve by altering the speed and distance of his swing. The unyielding wood never failed to jostle the plug still in his arse, and no matter how Harry tensed his muscles, he could not prevent the clamps on his nipples from accompanying each resounding SMACK with that same cheerful ringing.

Still wielding the paddle, Malfoy wrapped his hand around Harry’s cock, which had barely flagged, despite the urgency of other sensations. The touch made it immediately impossible to ignore his erection, however, and he began to thrust helplessly into Malfoy’s hand, crying out each time the paddle came down on his bare skin. Sobbing and overwhelmed, Harry felt himself building closer and closer to climax, when suddenly he felt a cold metal ring close around his cock, heightening the sensation while at the same time preventing his orgasm. The paddle had ceased, and Malfoy’s hand left his cock, tapping a teasing goodbye with his fingertips on the shaft.

Harry felt Malfoy kneel up on the mattress behind him, pressing himself against Harry’s arse and back, fully clothed but still with a noticeable erection, which pressed against the end of the plug. He unbuckled the straps of the gag that was firm in Harry’s mouth, but did not allow it to loosen at all, holding the straps tight in one hand. Wrapping his other hand around Harry’s throat--tight enough to be uncomfortable, but still allowing him some air--he leaned into Harry until his lips just brushed the shell of Harry’s ear.

“I’m going to give you a choice, Potter,” he whispered cruelly, “you see, I could let you go right now. I could untie you, unplug your arse, and let you walk back through the dorm to your bedroom. Problem is, I have no idea where Blaise has put your robes! You would have to walk back quite naked, and hard, and who knows who might be around at this hour.” Harry swallowed hard at the thought of it, drawing his attention uncomfortably back to Malfoy’s hand around his throat. “Or,” Malfoy continued, “you let me fuck you, right here, right now. I...take care of your little problem, and I’m sure I could dig up something for you to cover yourself with. What do you say?”

At this Malfoy let one strap of the gag go, allowing Harry to push the offending thing out of his mouth until it fell, spit-soaked and dangling from the other strap, onto his collarbone. Harry licked his lips and swallowed again, suddenly aware of the dryness of his mouth. His whole body was simultaneously too hot and too cold, his arse full, his limbs stretched, and his cock desperate for attention and release. Despite the humiliation, and the discomfort--despite the fact that this was MALFOY--he realized he desperately wanted this, needed Malfoy to fuck him in his still-sore arse until the world fell away and he forgot about the war, about Voldemort, forgot his own name...

Softly, with no small amount of shame but all of his Gryffindor courage, Harry whispered, “fuck me.”

“What was that, Potter? The least you could do is ask nicely.”

“Malfoy--”

“Ah-ah, you’ll have to use my first name. And say please.”

“Malfoy--Draco, please fuck me.”

In one swift motion, Malfoy grabbed the dangling strap of the gag, forced it back into Harry’s mouth, and deftly buckled it behind his head. He hopped off the end of the bed and Harry heard a whispered incantation and then he was falling forward, unable to catch himself.

He landed face-first on the mattress and the restraints around his wrists immediately attached themselves to either corner of the head of the bed, pulling him up the mattress and leaving him spread-eagled on his stomach. His own body weight now pressed painfully on the clamps at his nipples and the ring on his cock, and he found himself forced to choose between the smothering feeling of his face directly in the mattress, and the neck strain of turning his head to the side. Malfoy wasted no time climbing onto the bed behind him and slowly removing the plug in his arse. It felt just as strange coming out as going in, although this at least bore some closer resemblance to a bodily function he was more used to. Another whispered incantation and Harry felt slick lubrication at his entrance. He heard Malfoy unbuckle his belt and unzip his trousers. Then Malfoy grabbed him by his hair, yanked his head up, and slipped the belt under his chin, feeding the end through the buckle and turning it into a makeshift collar. With one hand holding the belt taut, forcing Harry’s head up, Draco knelt between Harry’s legs and slid his cock into Harry’s arse.

It seemed to Harry that there was not a single part of his body of which he was unaware. His feet were freezing, his hands clenching and unclenching. His wrists and ankles were chafed from the restraints, and his leg and arm muscles had been tight for so long they were beginning to tremble. His nipples positively screamed where the clamps held them tight, and the belt around his neck made every breath a conscious motion. His eyes watered and his lips felt stretched by the gag. Even the cold air against his teeth was impossible to ignore, and the open fly of Malfoy’s trousers kept brushing against the welts on his arse cheeks, setting off new jolts of pain. The sparkly kind of pain, Harry thought to himself, almost delirious, like glitter.

Above all of this was the throbbing need in his cock, and the steady rhythm of Draco rocking in and out of him. Harry grabbed on to that rhythm, anchored himself to it as the one consistent and predictable thing among all the conflicting things his body was feeling. He noticed the slight change in rhythm when Draco adjusted his angle to accommodate his tiring muscles (brushing Harry’s prostate in the process and fuck, Merlin, fuck), the frantic increase of speed as Draco seemed to lose some of his precious control, and the broken, chaotic thrust-and--grunt as Draco orgasmed, dragging his nails harshly down Harry’s back.

Draco pulled out of him gently and slowly, and for a moment Harry felt bizarrely grateful for the tenderness with which Malfoy had tied and beaten and humiliated and shagged him. He almost laughed at the thought, but it came out as more of an exhausted huff. This seemed to draw Draco’s attention to the gag still securely in Harry’s mouth, and he reached up and unbuckled it again, setting it aside and then buttoning up his trousers.

Harry assumed Draco must have grabbed his wand again, because he whispered another incantation and Harry’s arms were free. With a sigh of relief, Harry pulled his arms to his sides, easing the muscles into a new position. This turned out to be a mistake, as Draco quickly grabbed both wrists and pulled them behind Harry’s back, overlapping the loops that dangled from the cuffs Harry still wore, and holding them firmly together with his left hand. He put one knee on the back of Harry’s calf, then snaked his arm underneath Harry’s hips until he had a firm grasp on his pelvis. Then he yanked Harry up onto his knees, his arse high in the air.

Harry had thought the previous positions made him feel vulnerable and exposed, but that was nothing compared to this. It was somehow worse, having his arms restrained by only the strength of his rival’s grip, and the positioning of his arms behind his back meant there was no way to relieve the weight of his torso pressing his face into the mattress. He knew that from Draco’s position behind him, all of Harry was on display, his cock and scrotum dangling beneath him and his arsehole still open and dripping with lube and cum. Draco had reached up and released Harry’s nipples one-by-one from the clamps--which HURT--when Harry was startled by a sharp knock on the door.

“Come in!” Draco yelled cheerfully, to Harry’s horror.

“Ah, Pansy! Blaise! Right on time.”

Harry made a muffled sound of protest into the sheets on the bed, unable to bear the thought of not one but three Slytherins witnessing him in this humiliating position. But Draco was politely telling them to grab some chairs and have a seat, for all the world as though he were about to have a tea party.

“Potter here has been so good, I was just about to give him his reward!”

Without letting go of Harry’s hands behind his back, Draco swung one leg over Harry’s leg, still tied to the bedpost, so he was half-kneeling on the bed, half-standing on the floor, straddling Harry’s leg but no longer obstructing the other Slytherins’ view of Harry’s exposed backside. He fished a handkerchief out of his pocket and made a halfhearted attempt to wipe the dripping mess from Harry’s arse, mostly succeeding in just making Harry painfully aware of the fact that it was there and that Blaise and Pansy had seen it. Almost afraid to look, but unable to stop himself, Harry shifted his weight onto his forehead so he could look back between his own legs. He could just make out the fuzzy shapes of the two Slytherins sitting directly behind him.

Malfoy was in the middle of pointing out to Blaise and Pansy, with an air of undisguised glee, how red and sore Potter’s cheeks were (“if I pinch them, they turn white”), how filthy and open his arsehole, how absolutely needy he must be feeling, with his cock so neglected. With those words, Draco reached between Harry’s legs with his free hand and, almost as an afterthought, removed the cock ring. Harry buried his face back into the mattress, grateful that at least he could prevent the Slytherins from looking at his face, if nothing else. Draco noticed the change and laughed cruelly. “Shy, Potter?” He said, and yanked Harry’s head up by the hair briefly, before allowing him to hide his face again. “We’ll soon fix that.” And with that he began to stroke Harry’s cock in earnest.

Harry had been close to the edge when Malfoy secured the cock ring around him, and the device had sort-of held him there. In spite of his keen awareness of having an audience, when Malfoy touched his aching cock Harry was helpless to stop the moaning noises he made, or the wiggling and bouncing of his arse in the air. “That’s right, Potter,” said Draco soothingly, “put on a show for us.” He momentarily ceased stroking Harry’s cock in favor of slapping his ass, hard, producing a surprised yelp from Harry before returning his attentions back to Harry’s cock. Harry thought he heard laughter from Blaise and Pansy, but by that time he was sobbing and hard and oh so close that the embarrassment felt almost indistinguishable from pleasure.

Draco leaned over Harry slightly, and in a stage-whisper said, “I think you should thank me, Potter, for treating you so well.”

“Th-tha--”

“By name, Potter. By my first name.”

“Th-thank you, Draco”

And Draco gave a last, firm tug that sent Harry tumbling over the edge, almost whiting out his vision as he finally came.

A tap of Draco’s wand secured Harry’s wrist restraints behind him without Draco having to hold them there, and a wave released the bonds that held his ankles, causing Harry to slide partway off the bed. Draco sat down next to Harry on the bed and held him there with a hand on the back of his neck, the fingers of his other hand absently tracing patterns on Harry’s sore cheeks.

“I suppose I should keep my end of our deal.” He sighed with exaggerated regret. “Pansy, do you by chance have a suitable garment for our guest to wear on his way back to his room?”

Harry heard Pansy’s laughing “of course, Draco darling!” In response, and thought he saw the movement of her skirt out of the corner of his eye. Then without warning, he felt Pansy and Blaise each grab him by an ankle and yank him further off the bed, until he was bent at the waist, his feet on the floor and his torso still facedown on the bed, under Draco’s restraining hand. Draco moved to straddle Harry’s shoulders, facing Blaise and Pansy and pinning Harry to the bed even further. Harry felt each of his legs lifted one by one as something small and lacy was placed around them. The fabric traveled up his legs until he felt Draco lean forward--pressing painfully on his elbows--and pulled it over his arse. The tiny strip of fabric in the back wedged itself into his crack, doing nothing to hide his red cheeks, and the nearly-as-tiny fabric in the front barely covered his cock. Blaise and Pansy released Harry’s ankles, and Draco sprang off of him onto the floor, then hauled Harry up by the belt still around his neck.

Harry looked down at himself. He was wearing the tiniest pair of green lacy underwear he had ever seen, and they were...Pansy’s? Used? Before he could think too hard about it, Draco slipped his glasses back onto his face, removed the belt from his neck, grabbed him gently by the elbow, and pulled him to the door. With a playful swat on the arse and a gleeful “until next time, Potter!” Draco pushed Harry into the empty hallway and closed the door behind him.

The laughter of the Slytherins followed him all the way back to his room.


End file.
